


Silly, Slithery, Susceptible Snake

by musicmillennia



Series: Musket Books [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: And Everything Nice, Baby Pets, Domestic Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Humor, Multi, Pets, Spice, Sugar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm saying that Bazin is actually female, and now she's pregnant with Grimaud's babies!"</p><p>...Porthos should've known better than to put Aramis on speaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silly, Slithery, Susceptible Snake

**Author's Note:**

> Title based off the children's rhyme, "Silly, Slithery Snake".
> 
> To those who have not read The Three Musketeers, Grimaud and Bazin are the servants of Athos and Aramis respectively. Porthos also had one named Mosqueton and D'Artagnan Planchet.
> 
> Important note for the Dauphin: I gave him a different name because, let's be honest, Anne would not name him Louis in this 'verse.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading these!! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying them!

The thing is, for all their teasing him, Porthos, Athos, and Aramis know that D'Artagnan is actually a capable individual. When he takes someone in a fight, seven times out of ten he can beat that person; the other three times happen simply because he doesn't understand the meaning of the phrase, "pick on someone your own size."

Everyone always looks to Porthos for the muscle out of the two of them, never once thinking D'Artagnan has anything under the shirt after being called "pup" so many times by his (asshole) friends.

They are missing out, is what Porthos is saying here, by underestimating D'Artagnan. But then, more for him.

Because did he mention his boyfriend's a mechanic?

"Porthos, he's still got twenty minutes left with me," Tréville warns him when he enters the garage's waiting room.

Porthos winks. "Y'won't even know I'm here, sir."

Tréville hums, unconvinced.

"Is 'e finished on Athos' truck?"

His father's eyebrow rises; he knows what Porthos is doing. "Working on it now, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, well, I think on behalf of my good friend—"

"Just go in." Porthos salutes him. Tréville calls after him as he goes on his way, "But no distractions, or you're grounded!"

Porthos laughs and shuts the door.

 

* * *

 

Back to the point: D'Artagnan has muscles. Lean, toned, gorgeous things that, when he's fixing a car or bike, become gloriously obvious through his sweaty uniform. Especially now, in early May, when it's getting hot inside the garage in spite of the AC working tirelessly; D'Artagnan's in short sleeves.

Porthos stands there for a second, just watching him work. Tréville  _did_ order no distractions, and Porthous would  _hate_ to be grounded at twenty-seven years old.

When idle, D'Artagnan gets jittery real easy, always fidgeting and looking around for something to do. Unless he's deliberately relaxing, he's like a ticking time bomb. But when he's focused, it's—definitely a sight.

He's under Athos' truck's hood, doing something magical with a wrench. Magical because those lean, toned, gorgeous muscles are bulging against his stained white shirt, uniform over-shirt tied around his waist. His hair's tied back, revealing this intense concentration in his eyes that always does strange things to Porthos' limbs.

Add all this, plus sweat and dirt, then the fact that D'Artagnan's bent over, and suddenly Porthos is thinking he should sit down, 'cause repairing a car should not be this attractive.

"You're early." D'Artagnan doesn't look at him when he says this; it's something Porthos admires about him: when he is working, he's going to finish the job, Hercules not withstanding.

Porthos smiles to himself.  _Hercules_. He'll never get over that one.

"Thought I'd check in on Roger," he replies, twirling his phone in his hands so he doesn't do anything that would get him grounded. Or arrested, because they  _are_ in public.

And D'Artagnan grins—not boyish and cute, but with this arrogant  _knowing_ that makes Porthos wanna punch him and get down on his knees for him at the same time.

"Roger's going to be just fine. As much as I can get him, anyway. I keep telling Athos there should be a Roger Jr.—"

"Don't say that in front of 'im! He'll have abandonment issues!" Porthos pats Roger's side mirror. "Don't listen to D'Artagnan. Athos an' I still love you."

"What about Aramis?"

"Aramis doesn't get a say because he doesn't love Roger like we do."

D'Artagnan laughs, rich and sweet like honey, and Porthos has a problem.

_I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch..._

Porthos holds up his phone, "Speakin' of."

"Please tell me he knows about that ringtone."

"Oh, he knows." Porthos hits Speaker, because why not? "D'Artagnan's here."

_"Hello, D'Artagnan!"_

"Hey, Aramis!"

 _"So, Porthos,"_ oh no. Porthos knows that voice—pitched a bit higher than normal, hanging on a nervous laugh with every word. It's the We May Have a Problem Voice.

"What's wrong?" Porthos asks, already dreading the answer.

 _"We may have a problem."_ See?  _"Not a—_ big  _problem, actually it's quite small—"_

 _"Aramis,"_ comes Athos' Stop Stalling Voice in the background.

_"Right. So, they made a mistake."_

"Who did?"

_"The—pet people."_

D'Artagnan raises an eyebrow as he takes the top off something. "What are you saying, Aramis?"

_"I'm saying that Bazin is actually a female, and now she's pregnant with Grimaud's babies!"_

...Porthos should've known better than to put Aramis on speaker. Even Tréville's staring at them, eyes widening by the second. Not to mention D'Artagnan's colleagues, who've all halted mid-stride.

"It's—their pet snakes," Porthos says weakly.

Well, at least Tréville's laughing.

 

* * *

 

Later, in the cozy two-bedroom above Musket Books, four men are bent at the waist to stare at a brown [Grass Snake](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grass_snake) with black stripes, as if expecting her to spontaneously shit eggs.

"Aren't the females supposed t'be huge?" Porthos asks, "Don't see how they could miss that."

[Bazin](http://cache4.asset-cache.net/gc/486462483-grass-snake-la-brenne-france-gettyimages.jpg?v=1&c=IWSAsset&k=2&d=5RRgRUMKnIv5kMdU3KiwMGTjEBDYlARub1RIpya5Few%3D) isn't huge, though. If anything, she and [Grimaud](http://www.planetepassion.eu/snakes-in-france/Photo.Grass_snake.Natrix-natrix-dark.France.jpg) are almost the same size, give or take a few inches. Is that bad? The vet had said she was perfectly healthy, but Aramis stopped trusting doctors a long time ago.

Athos straightens. "Whatever size she should be, it doesn't change her condition. There is no way Aramis and I are keeping these eggs."

D'Artagnan follows suit, crossing his arms. "Then we'll just need to ind people willing to take them. Simple."

Aramis comes up, ( _definitely not_ ) pouting. "Not simple. Who do we know that would take a  _snake_ for a pet?"

Porthos is the last, squaring his shoulders and giving Aramis a reassuring pat on the back. "We'll find 'em a home. An' if not, maybe the store you bought 'em from'll want some new ones."

"Yeah," D'Artagnan grins, "How hard can it be?"

Athos quickly knocks on a nearby wood bookcase. D'Artagnan meekly nods his thanks.

 

* * *

 

That knock on wood saved a life—specifically the life of an itty-bitty slithery baby.

The four of them are discussing possibilities among their friends for the eggs' homes when a familiar figure dissolves into view next to Athos.

"Pardon my intrusion, but are you looking for someone to take one of the eggs?"

Ninon's carrying a pile of thick books, as well as wearing her customary high heels; how they didn't hear her is beyond them; D'Artagnan thinks there's some secret art to the pointed heel that can only be mastered by those who wear them.

"Would you like one?" Athos asks.

Ninon's smile is slightly manic and plenty terrifying. D'Artagnan may or may not cower a bit behind Porthos. "I confess I have always wanted one," she says, "Thank you, gentlemen."

When she continues on her way, Aramis looks at Athos in amused bewilderment; the latter knocks the air three times.

They achieve similar results with Anne.

"Your ex-wife?" D'Artagnan asks Athos.

"No, the mother of Aramis' son," is the reply.

D'Artagnan short circuits.

"That's right!" Aramis grins at him, "We've not introduced you to my little Augustin. You'll love him. Everyone loves him."

Athos squeezes his hand. "How could they not?"

"Exactly!" Aramis kisses his cheek. "Good fiancé."

"That is a good idea, though," Porthos tells D'Artagnan, who's still staring blankly at Aramis. "Anne's probably love a snake." In seconds he has his phone to his ear. "Beloved sister mine! How are you?"

 

* * *

 

"Seems Bazin is actually female." Anne's smirk is filled with way too much intent for Constance's comfort. "Athos and Aramis are going to give away her children when they hatch."

How does she always manage to make things and people sound so much worse than they are? It's as hilarious as it is irksome.

Constance narrows her eyes at her over her knitting. "We are not getting a snake."

The innocent pout is made all the more refutable by the smirk that came before it. "Come now, dear wife," Anne says with awful sweetness, draping herself across Constance's lap and their couch like a lovestruck maiden. Constance raises her needles to peer down at her in suspicion. "Don't you want a child, to have and to hold—"

"No. Snake."

And there goes the sweetness. Anne rolls her eyes, tracing the hem of Constance's shirt. "You spoil my fun."

"Dear, the last time you had fun, a restaurant caught on fire."

Anne waves her hand dismissively. "Details. Point is I got the contract."

Don't smile, Constance. It will only encourage her.  _Don't_ —damn it.

But she receives a smile in return. Not one of the (far too many) guarded ones used for outside their home; it's a tiny, genuine thing. Happy.

Constance wants to wrap it up and keep it for a rainy day.  _All_ the rainy days.

Then she ruins the moment by smirking again. "Shall we try making a baby ourselves, then?"

Now it's Constance's turn to roll her eyes, because really with that line?

She sets aside her needles and kisses Anne anyway.

"Still not getting a snake."

"I can at least tell Porthos I tried."

 

* * *

 

**Annie (14:19)**

Desoleé, brother mine! Better try dads

 

"Constance said no," Porthos reports, "and they're about to have sex."

"Speaking English?" Athos guesses.

"And callin' our fathers 'dads.'"

D'Artagnan, sufficiently recovered from pseudo-Dad Shock, looks between them incredulously. Pointing to Athos, "I get how  _you_ would know that," rounding on Porthos, "but how would  _you_ —" he cuts himself off with a groan, scrubbing his face.

Porthos laughs, draws him in with an arm. "Glad you're an only child for once?"

D'Artagnan groans again so he can get a kiss.

"Richelieu might want a snake," Aramis says, as if nothing's happening right next to him. "After all, one always feels best among one's own kind."

Porthos laughs into the kiss, and D'Artagnan wants to give Aramis his personal thanks.

 

* * *

 

"You're on speaker, Porthos," Tréville says, "so behave yourself."

He's not going to let that go, is he? _"Is Father there?"_

Armand always invites Jean over for their shared lunch break, but Porthos knows from the power tools in the background they're in the garage again. Tréville's always so sure that if he leaves for one second, something will blow up.

He even proved it three years ago: one foot out the door and there went Madame's precious Bug.

"Yes, unfortunately I am," answers Richelieu, wrinkling his nose at the tiny office. He doesn't care for peasants' surroundings—a joke his family likes to enjoy.

_"Okay. So, wonderful fathers, who so generously take stray children into their home—"_

"What do you want?" they ask in perfect unison. When you have a child like Porthos or Anne, then marry a man whose child has identically devious behavior, you learn it's best to just get to the point.

Porthos obediently informs them of Athos and Aramis' predicament. Tréville, already knowing it, watches Armand's reaction.

Ah, yes. There it is: the I'm Too Old for This Shit Look he's had since he was twenty years old. Tréville will never get tired of seeing that; it's the little laughs that make everything worthwhile.

"And you want us to, what?" Richelieu snaps, "Adopt a snake?"

_"If that nest's feeling empty..."_

Two sets of laughter in the background. No doubt D'Artagnan and Aramis. Tréville fondly imagines Athos' smile accompanying them.

He loves those boys. Pain in his side, but he loves them.

Armand, however, does not share the affection. He casts a withering glare on the phone, down his nose and everything. Tréville wonders when his neck is going to get sore from pushing that nose to the air.

"Come now Armand," Jean says, making sure his smile is downright insolent, his tone a prominent challenge, "The snake isn't going to be venomous. You don't have to be scared."

Uh-huh. There's the nostrils flare. Glee fills Tréville's chest, childish, childish glee. His children are a terrible influence, because he  _definitely_ didn't used to be this provocative.

At all.

(Quiet, you.)

"We'll take two," Armand says. On Jean's raised eyebrows, "Unless your father cannot bear the thought of  _two_."

Porthos gives his "I love you"s before they go too far; the Vegas Incident still gives him flashbacks.

"They'll take one?" asks Aramis hopefully."

"They'll take  _two_ ," grins Porthos.

Aramis throws himself at him with a loud cheer.

"I've known you for almost a year," D'Artagnan mutters, "How did I not know about a  _child_?"

Not exactly over the shock then. Porthos gives him another helpful kiss.

 

* * *

 

With at least four eggs claimed, they decide to wait until Bazin actually lays the eggs before anything else.

Athos knows they're in the vegetable compost he'd left in the tank because suddenly he's waking up to Aramis straddling him in nothing but Athos' robe and his too-small briefs.

Although one of the benefits to a relationship with Aramis is that such a situation is quite common. What's different is Aramis crowing about the eggs, Athos, the eggs!

And yes, he will see the eggs. In fact, he's excited to see them.

But he is only human. A human who likes sex. and Aramis should be aware of this. With anyone else, he would never speak up about it, yet...this is Aramis. He can tell Aramis what he wants.

Even better, he already knows.

He shuts the door first. "Not in front of the kids," he whispers, eyes shining the in the morning sunlight, bright with mischief.

Athos loves him very much.

 

* * *

 

There are nine eggs in total, and according to Athos' research, they will hatch in about ten weeks.

"Plenty of time to find more homes," D'Artagnan says, all optimism. "What's so difficult about that?"

This time, he makes it to the wood bookshelf first.

 

* * *

 

Serendipity is a funny thing.

That very week, an old flame of Aramis' happens to visit the bookshop looking for a copy of  _The Scarlet Letter_. She'd been the last before Athos and Aramis finally looked at each other and saw their future, so Athos knows her well.

She's his favorite, besides Anne.

"Athos!" she cries, holding out her arms, "How are you?"

"Adèle, welcome," he replies, quietly matching her enthusiasm as they kiss each other's cheeks.

He has a few copies of _The Scarlet Letter,_ but only three red ones, which is what she wants. And just as he's reaching for the one he thinks would suit her tastes, she lets out a surprised "oh!" next to him.

Bemused, he follows her gaze. "Grimaud. What are you doing down here?"

Athos crouches down to where his snake is blending against the dark shelves; and starts to move.

"I almost stepped on the poor dear!" Adèle giggles, hand over her chest.

Athos stands, Grimaud slithering up his arm, his shoulder, until his head rests in his master's hair. Embarrassing, to be sure, but it may be exactly what he should do if Adèle had truly said...

"Not many people call them dear, Mademoiselle."

Adèle's face glowed with affection. "Oh, I adore reptlies. Could never have one, though. My parents always moaned about getting clawed or poisoned, and I never get around to buying one today."

A slow smile curls itself onto Athos' face. "Grimaud's mate just laid eggs. Non-venomous."

Adèle's smile joins his. "You don't say?"

 

* * *

 

"So that leaves four," Porthos concludes.

"Nine weeks still left," D'Artagnan adds.

"How was Adèle, by the way?" Aramis asks Athos, stroking along Grimaud's scales as he slides between where he's sitting on Athos' lap and Athos' chest. He's counting down the seconds until Grimaud realizes he can slide down Athos' (absolutely ravishing) v-neck and watch everyone from there.

Ignorant of this, Athos sips his tea calmly and replies, "Lovely as always. Bought a  _Scarlet Letter_."

Aramis hums his approval, slowly reaching for his phone; Grimaud has locked on The V. In his periphery vision, Porthos is snickering. "Which one?"

Best way to distract Athos: raise your sword, or just mention books. As expected, Athos starts waxing poetry about this wonderful first edition Hawthorne, its rich color, the engraved 'A' on the _—_

Grimaud goes down his shirt.

Aramis' Instagram video gets one hundred likes within the next five minutes. The following picture of Grimaud's head being cradled in The V gets two hundred.

If only Bazin liked anyone besides Aramis; she could've cradled with Grimaud.

(A part of his brain points out that she already did.)

"Could I take one?"

All three pairs of eyes switch from the snake to D'Artagnan.

"Can you afford it?" Athos asks, giving Porthos and Aramis the distinct feeling that he'd buy D'Artagnan everything down to the can of earth worms for feeding.

"They'd stay with my parents," D'Artagnan shrugs, "My stepfather's allergic to anything with fur, but he's always wanted a pet. You could tell us what to do, and when I can keep them, I'll take them."

Porthos swallows under Aramis' sudden scrutiny. "I'll take one too."

Despite looking incredibly different, Athos' look somehow matches Aramis'. Eerily so. "Don't you think it will be a little crowded?"

"Well, you guys have your own snakes," Porthos shifts from foot to foot, arms crossed, "figured I should 'ave one too."

D'Artagnan narrows his eyes, looking between the three of them.

Something just happened.

 

* * *

 

The last two eggs are not claimed before they hatch, despite everyone's best efforts.

At the first signs of cracking, Aramis summons the claimers to the bookshop, which has been closed for the occasion.

Porthos walks into the front room and tries not to think about how it's one year to the day since he met D'Artagnan. He fails.

Fortunately, D'Artagnan's thinking the same thing, so he's not alone; unfortunately, he doesn't know he's not alone.

Of the claimers, Tréville, Richelieu, and Augustin's mother Anne can't make it to see the shells crack, so naturally D'Artagnan jips the video camera and films the whole thing. The rest are all accounted for, holding little tanks at the ready.

Because Constance's Anne thought it would be fun to watch baby snakes hatch, she and her wife are also among the group crammed around the frankly gigantic tank.

One by one, little scaly noodles break from their shells under the hot red light.

And they're so beautiful that Constance knows she's in trouble.

Porthos looks down at his and D'Artagnan's entwined fingers, then at his vibrant, jubilant profile.

And he's so beautiful that Porthos knows he's in trouble.

"D'Artagnan—"

"Not yet!" Aramis snaps, "This moment belongs to  _them_."

So it does.

Ninon takes first pick. She doesn't take long; Porthos suspects she already had her egg picked. 

"That is my Galileo," she announces proudly, pointing to the one still curiously peering at the light above them.

Adèle is next. She takes a little longer, her excitement palpable as she watches the little ones explore the tank. After about two minutes' debating with herself, she finally chooses the one doing laps around the rock and plants, naming them Rose. That way, even if they're misgendered, they'll still have thorns.

D'Artagnan laughs at the first swimmer's wiggling body. "I think I'll take this one," he says, finger inches from the tank's glass. "How does Planchet sound, little guy?"

He starts baby talking to his snake, Porthos repeats,  _he is baby talking to a snake,_ this is not a drill.

"Mosqueton," he chokes out, drawing the amused eyes of almost everyone in the room. Screw them all. "That one," he nearly punches the tank with his finger at the second swimmer. "I'll call 'em Mosqueton."

"Good choice," Athos says quietly. Porthos can  _hear_ his smirk, the bastard.

Aramis leans over to Constance. "There are still two more without a home..."

Constance looks at him, at Anne, and at the babies. "I..." oh, is that one  _preening_ at her?

Damn.

She wraps an arm around Anne's waist and rests her head on her shoulder in defeat. "Perhaps we could use a pet in the house," she mumbles.

Anne kisses her head, returning her embrace. "I'll get you a tank," she whispers.

Aramis chuckles. "And then there was o—"

What.

What is—

 _What_.

Aramis blinks rapidly, unable to process the image before him. Porthos proves he is a good friend by taking a picture in his stead.

A picture of Athos holding one of the babies in his hands, turning them over and over as the tiny snake slithers about his palms and fingers.

He looks up at Aramis through his bangs, eyes appearing bluer in the shadows.

"Aramis..."

No. Nope. Nu-uh.

There is no question here.

"Great! All the eggs have homes, then!"

Athos smiles, and Aramis' brain dies a happy death.

 

* * *

 

So it goes that Constance and Anne adopt Mordaunt, Anne Mazarin, and Richelieu and Tréville...

They have no idea what to call their snakes, actually.

But their favorite (only) son makes it easy for them: "Ain't it obvious? Captain and Cardinal!"

And that decided it.

Afterwards, the apartment is empty but for the snakes, the three occupants, and one of the occupant's boyfriend.

Raoul, Athos' new addition, is now enjoying a nice swim with Grimaud, who seems to be as taken with him as Athos is. Aramis watches his fiancé watch them; Porthos sees the all-encompassing love in his best friend's face and sighs.

"Can I have the moment now?" he murmurs.

"By all means," Athos says.

"Good luck," Aramis whispers as he passes, "not that you'll need it."

Porthos snorts, bumping shoulders.

D'Artagnan is hunched over the camera nearby, re-watching the hatching footage. Clear delight blazes on his face like a star.

 _He's_ like a star: bright, inspiring, and ineffably breath-taking. Porthos takes a deep breath.

One year anniversary. New pets. And when D'Artagnan sees him, an adoring smile nearly knocks him off his feet. This is going to happen.

If it doesn't, he suspects Athos and Aramis are going to do it for him.

"I was thinkin'," he begins, then stops, because that's a terrible way to start. D'Artagnan stares at him expectantly; he decides to roll with it. "Y'know how you always wished for siblings growin' up?"

D'Artagnan's face twitches together; he's trying to figure out where Porthos is going with this. "Yes...?"

"Well...maybe snakes aren't any different. Mosqueton'll want his brother or sister with 'em, right?"

His eyes widen a fraction. He's starting to figure it out. This time, his "yes" is more definitive.

"So I was thinkin'," shit, he's repeating himself now, "Maybe, um—"

Abruptly, D'Artagnan stands and steps into Porthos' space. "I think that's a brilliant idea," he says, failing to keep back his huge grin. "It would require us to live together, of course."

Porthos grins back. "Yeah, it would."

D'Artagnan leans upward and kisses him soundly.

Aramis sighs happily. Fucking finally.

Now, if only he and Athos could actually set a date.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> With a scientific name like Natrix natrix and a D'Artagnan-esque attitude where they make themselves look intimidating despite not having any venom, how could I resist?
> 
> Fun fact: apparently I can't write anything in this series without the Backstreet Boys. Go figure.  
> Another fun fact: yes, Raoul as in Athos' son. Yes, Mazarin as in Anne's rumored husband. Yes, Mordaunt as in Milady's son. Because why not? :D


End file.
